


Dear Gray-Man, [REQUESTS OPEN]

by KittenAnarchy



Category: D.Gray-man
Genre: Drabble Collection, Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-19
Updated: 2018-04-18
Packaged: 2019-04-24 20:24:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 994
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14362968
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KittenAnarchy/pseuds/KittenAnarchy
Summary: They all had stories to tell.---A series of drabbles.





	1. Sweets

**Author's Note:**

> Just a series of drabbles - most of them have already been posted on my tumblr, dabblingindrabbles.

Red hadn’t expected to get caught. Hell, he shouldn’t have gotten caught - the owner was an old man with failing eyes, and his back was turned. Red was getting soft. It was probably Mana’s fault, the weirdo. Wincing as the man roughly dragged his paralyzed arm, Red sucked in an inaudible breath as the man slammed him against the wall. That was certainly going to bruise.

“A rat in my stock?” The old man peered down at him. Red swore under his breath. “Do you know what I do to rats?”

“Does it look like I give a goddamn fuck, ya bloody wanker?” Red swore at the man. Pain blossomed in his right cheek, forcing Red to stumble back.

“Don’t disrespect me, boy!” The man snarled at him. “I’ll cut off your fingers, and-“

“I don’t think so.” A kind, yet familiar voice spoke up. Red held in a groan. It was Mana. His smiling face appeared, a wallet opened in one hand. “How much did Allen take?”

“It’s Red, ya gumby!” His indignant shout went ignored by the two older men.

“Two dollars worth of candy,” The store owner snapped, holding out his hand to take the required money.

“Of course, my apologies, sir.” Putting the money in the other’s hands, Mana turned to Red. Red cringed. He knew the older male would kick him out now, and left to the streets again. After all, who would keep a demon child that made him lose money?

“Allen?” Red groaned and rolled his eyes. The fucker kept using the dead dog’s name.

“Oi, it’s Red, ya old coot.” He snapped at the older man.

“Sorry, Red.” The clown’s smiles infuriated him. Did nothing bother him? Red didn’t know. “If you wanted candy, you could’ve told me.”

Silence reigned as Red looked at the floor. The chime of a bell rang in his ears, but he stubbornly refused to look up. Mana had probably left him. Tears pricked in his eyes. Why was he so upset? It was going to happen eventually. It was just a matter of time before the old clown left him- if not his arm, then because of his attitude. As much as he hated to admit it, Mana had grown on him, but now? Now, he was gone and Red was alone-

“Happy anniversary, Allen.” Red’s head shot up as a piece of candy was dropped into his hand. Mana smiled down on him. “I realized that it’s the anniversary on when we’ve met. December 25th.”

“I thought you left.” Red kicked at the ground, tightly grasping the sweet in his hand.

“Of course not, Allen.” Mana brushed away the strands of hair on Red’s face. “I’d never leave you.”

“My name’s not-“ Red stopped. It didn’t really matter if the older man kept getting his name wrong. As frustrating as he is, he kept Red around. “Oi, old man.”

“Ah, yes?”

“When’s our next performance?” Mana beamed at him. Red decided that maybe, just maybe, the smiles weren’t that infuriating after all.

“Allen! Do you want to join me? I can make you a mini suit and-“

“No! Sod off!” Red snapped. He took it back, he hated everything about the older man. “And my name is Red, you bloody old coot!”

 


	2. Sleep on It

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Neah's thoughts on Allen Walker.

He hadn’t seen his face in years.

At least, he hadn't seen it since that fateful day, 35 years ago, when… 

Neah shook his head. Now of all times wasn’t the time to be trapped in the past. With both his brother, the Apocryphos, and the Order on his tail, trivial things in the past weren't to be bothered with.

Although, the state of his brother's appearance... just to forget him, he went that far? That stung, not that he cared much about his twin anymore.  
  
They all had changed far too much in the past decades. Allen, not his Allen and yet the same person, is so young. (His hair is white! He's sixteen and his hair's white - if Neah hadn't quickly run through Allen's memories, he wouldn't have believed it.) Speaking of his memories... Neah grimaced at that. It could be worse. Allen could be dead, much like Cross. 

Despite Cross' smoking habits and alcoholism, Neah didn't think he'd be the one to kick the bucket first, out of the four of them. He had always seemed to clever and above all of that - even death. He hadn't even died on his own terms, unlike what the alcoholic had told him in their younger days.

  
Everything was falling apart. Allen, Cross, Mana-  
  
His peripheral vision caught something moving. It was the inspector - Neah had almost forgotten about the man.

He glanced at the slumbering blond besides him. Inspector Link, he said his name was, was tasked with following him, and attempting to “woo” him into joining the Order’s side. The inspector's earlier attempts were not successful, to say the least.

Idiot.

Neah glanced at the door. He didn’t have to stay. Leaving the two-dotted weirdo slumbering besides him was still an option. (Of course, killing him was also an option, but Neah was in unfamiliar territory, and didn't want to have to explain why he had been caught attempting to dispose of a corpse.)

  
Despite the benefits of leaving the inspector, food was still a problem, as was the innocence. The wretched thing was a beacon for the Apocryphos.

It also knew he wasn’t Allen, not that it mattered. This body wasn't even the real Allen, anyway. Allen was a red-headed bookman, not an albino exorcist. This wasn’t his Allen, this Allen was a fake. He'd be gone in a few days time.

The simulacrum of his friend deserved it.

  
Neah let out a sigh, leaning back against the headboard. His body was getting tired.

He’d have to sleep on the decision.

Closing his eyes, he leaned back against the pillow, ignoring the lingering guilt in his heart.

He definitely had to sleep on it.


End file.
